The Boy behind the Glass
by The Mutinous Pigeon
Summary: Harry is granted his wish of having a friend, but that doesn't mean that his friend has to be physically there. CURRENTLY ON HIATUS
1. The Mirror

**Disclaimer- The Harry Potter universe belongs to Joanne Rowling and Joanne Rowling alone. I do not intend to make any sort of profit out of this story; neither do I own any the characters, places and situations related to Harry Potter.**

**Chapter 1- The Mirror**

Harry Potter, a petite boy of eight, was sitting at the end of his bed within his 'room', if it can even be called that. His 'room' was merely a tiny cupboard under the stairs of his relative's home. The monsters he lived with don't even deserve to own the title of 'relatives', as they treated Harry more like a slave than a family member.

The raven haired boy was sent to his room after burning the dinner he was preparing for his family of walruses. It wasn't even that burnt; only a slightly darker crust was forming on the outside of the cutlets he was cooking. But of course, his relatives over- exaggerated, as usual, and he was shoved into his closet and was commanded to stay in there for the whole week. Normally, Harry wouldn't have minded, but this time he wasn't getting any meals either! Luckily for him, he had smuggled a packet of crackers a few days prior to this incident, so at least he won't starve to death.

Harry sighed and looked around his room, searching for something he could occupy himself with for the time being. Unfortunately, Dudley had ripped his favourite –and only- book to shreds before burning it into a pile of ash. Harry collected the ash and poured it into a glass jar for memory, but it just wasn't the same. After realising that he had nothing to do, he lay down on his cot and stared up at the ceiling. Noticing a few spiders, Harry smiled and held out his hand to enable one to crawl onto it.

"Hello, little one," Harry cooed softly. Most people would be scared of spiders, but since Harry had been living in a cupboard full of them since he was a baby, he was used to them. The spider stared up at him blankly and blinked its many eyes.

"I know you don't understand me and I don't understand you, but we can be friends, right?" The boy stated with a hopeful glint in his eyes.

The spider continued to stare up at him without a change of expression. Harry sighed and held his hand against the wall. The spider gave one final glance at the human before turning away and climbing to its fellow arachnids. The boy stared at the spiders reuniting and felt tears stinging his eyes. It was embarrassing enough that no people wanted to talk to him, but even the spiders didn't want Harry. He closed his eyes and let himself cry freely. No one would care anyway, whether he cried in public or in solitude, but Harry preferred to hold his emotions until he was in a place where no one was watching. Where no one could point fingers at him and laugh and say nasty things about him. He cried until the teardrops refused to escape his body, he knew that meant that he had run out of tears. He wiped his eyes and looked out the window, a window as small an A4 paper, but a window none the less, and murmured, "I just wish I had someone to talk to, someone who can relate with me. I just… I just want a friend. Is that too much to ask for?"

Harry placed his head on his thin, stained pillow and covered himself with his only quilt. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, he even hummed his favourite lullaby in attempt to enter the dreamland, but there was something that wasn't letting him. He gave up trying to sleep and got out of bed. He cautiously eyed the room. His eyes travelled past every object in his room, but when his eyes moved over a certain part of the area, he felt a tingle in his fingers. It was neither pleasant nor unpleasant, but Harry had the urge to further investigate the strange feeling.

His eyes swept over said place once again and noticed the tingle in his fingers when he looked over to a dark corner. Eagerly, Harry made his way to the dark corner. Harry loved a mystery, but he had never had the opportunity to examine one, so this was something new to him. New and exciting. It was as though he were compelled, as though there was a magnet and Harry was drawn to it. The nearer he got, the stronger the feeling became and it was soon overwhelming. But Harry only stopped when he got to the destination. Vigilantly, he sought the object in front of him. It was a glass pane. Just a massive shard of glass, yet Harry was drawn to it like a moth was drawn to light. Embedded on one corner of the glass were two words in a shimmering blue: _'Wish Granted'._

Harry was greatly confused. What was that supposed to mean? After a moment in deep thought, he remembered what he had said earlier.

"I wished for a friend, a person to talk to. But this isn't a person; it's just a piece of glass!"

Annoyed and even more confused that before, Harry turned the glass over to inspect the other side. At first it seemed to be just like the first side he had looked like, but the longer he stared at it, the more the image within morphed. It had, at first, been just a faint reflection of Harry's face but soon became more defined. It showed the rest of his room, as if it had magically turned into a mirror. Then the reflection of his room started to distort. It became day time in the glass, his room was larger and there was only a bed. A young boy came into view, and Harry wondered if it was himself.

The boy was lying on his bed, reading a book, and a big book at that. Harry grimaced. Why would he ever read a book that big for leisure? It seemed absurd, yet this 'version' of him was doing just that. The boy looked peaceful and he didn't want to disturb him, but he desperately wanted to know what this was and what the mirror meant by its short message.

"Um… Excuse me?" Harry called uncertainly. The boy didn't seem to hear, so Harry called again, but with more confidence.

"Hello?"

The boy seemed to be looking around for the source of the noise. When he saw where Harry was, he walked slowly towards him and looked through the glass. That's when Harry realised that it wasn't himself in the glass. Sure, the boy did look quite like him, but his hair was neater and his clothes, although worn, looked tidier, his face was thinner and more defined than Harry's and his eyes were a deep, dark, grey-brown. Despite the dingy surroundings, he looked proper; formal. Harry wanted to ask what the boy was doing in the mirror, how he got in there, but he ended up asking "Who are you?"

The boy stared, momentarily stunned, before regaining his composure and answering. "Tom. My name's Tom Riddle."


	2. A New Friend

**Disclaimer- Harry Potter does not belong to me and never will, no matter how much I want it to. It belongs to Joanne Rowling.**

**Chapter 2- A New Friend**

"How did you get in there?" Harry asked.

"Get in where?"

"The glass. How did you manage to get inside a piece of glass?" Harry urged, impatiently. He suddenly flinched and covered his mouth, as if he was about to be the recipient of a physical attack. The young boy knew he wasn't allowed to use that tone on others. He was never allowed to question anyone more times than necessary, or at all when it came to him relatives.

Tom looked at Harry as though he had grown another head. He then leaned forward and tapped on the surface.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm in my room in my orphanage. It's you that's inside this shard of glass," He answered, seemingly ignoring the other boy's abrupt change of expression.

The smaller boy looked slightly taken aback. "What do you mean, Tom? I'm in my bedroom at my house."

"Is that so…"

Harry nodded and Tom Riddle expressed a calculative look. Harry could see the cogs working in his mind and the imaginary light bulb over Tom's head when he reached a conclusion.

"This may not be accurate, but I believe it is a fairly plausible idea."

"What is it?"

"Tell me everything that happened and everything you thought of from an hour ago to now."

"I don't think I can remember everything, but I'll try. I was sitting pretty much the whole time. One hour ago, I was thinking um… oh, yes! I was thinking about how much I hate my relatives. Then I thought about how lonely I was, then about the darkness. Hmm… Spiders! I was thinking about a family of spiders, then about rejection. After that I looked out a window and wished for a friend. I tried sleeping, but that didn't work. Then I felt this weird feeling in my fingers and they led me to the glass. I was thi-"

Harry's sentence was cut swiftly when Tom raised his hand to silence the boy.

"You said you wished for a friend, and then felt a tingling in your fingers?"Riddle inquired.

"Yes, but not straight away. A few minutes later, I think."

The corners of Tom's lips quirked upwards. "Interesting," he whispered.

"What's interesting?"

"I felt the same thing too. I wished for a friend and then I felt my fingers prickling. I ignored it though. Then you called me over. What was your name again? I don't think you told me."

"Harry Potter," the messy haired boy answered simply.

"Well, Harry Potter, I guess we are friends now… I don't really know what friends are meant to do though," Tom stated, blushing a faint shade of peach. It wasn't usual for Tom to not understand how things work.

"Don't worry, me neither. I've never had a friend before!"

"Why is that?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably and bit his lip. He didn't want his new friend to leave him already. But maybe that's just it, maybe freaks were never meant to have friends anyway. But didn't the mirror say that his wish was granted? After his short internal debate, he decided to out with his secret.

"I- I sometimes make things happen. Things that p-people shouldn't be able to do." Harry looked up nervously and his eyes met Tom's. He searched them for emotions in them; fear, disgust, hatred, but he didn't find them. On the contrary, Tom's eyes lit up and widened marginally.

"Like what?" the dark eyed boy asked, trying to contain his growing excitement.

"I'll tell you only if you promise not to judge me." Harry couldn't risk losing his first friend ever, even if they had only met ten minutes ago.

"I promise I won't judge you."

"Okay. I can sometimes move things without touching them. I also once teleported onto the school's roof when my cousin and his gang were chasing me. My teacher's hair once turned blue when I was angry with her. Sometimes, when I get mad, the lights explode and the weather changes at my will, depending on my mood," Harry said, feeling extremely nervous. When he saw that the other boy looked amazed, his anxiety settled and was replaced with befuddlement and an odd sense of relief.

"Why aren't you scared? This is normally the part when people call me a freak and run away from me."

"Well, Harry, it seems that I'm not the only one. And neither are you."

Harry breath caught and he stared at boy opposite him. "Are you saying that you can do those things too? Does that mean that you're a freak like me?"

"Yes, I can do those things and more. But, you see, Harry, we are not freaks, no matter what the others say. We are better than them. We are stronger than them. We are powerful," Tom concluded with a glint of pride in his eyes. Harry looked up at Tom, motivated by his speech, before a sudden realisation hit him, casing his shoulders to slump and his previously good mood to vanish instantly.

"What's the matter, Harry?"

"Does that mean you get hit too? I get punished for using my freakishness, even if it isn't harmful."

The boy in the other side of the glass looked vehement, ready to lash out.

"Yes. I used to. That is, until I taught them a lesson. Now they do not dare interfere with me. Tell me, Harry, who punishes you?"

Harry looked uncomfortable once again but spoke without hesitation.

"My uncle normally. He hits me sometimes, but it doesn't hurt that much. No, it's not mainly physical violence that I endure. When they- my relatives that I live with- are irritated by me, which is pretty much every waking moment, I get locked up in my room. They starve me instead and I have to do all the chores and my cousin doesn't have to do anything!"

"Are you in your room now?"

"Yes."

Tom scoffed. "It looks big enough to fit a bunny."

"It's not actually a bedroom. It's a cupboard under the stairs. It's not that there aren't enough bedrooms though; they just hate me so much that they think they are being generous by giving me an 'adequate room suitable for freaks'," Harry quoted something his Aunty once said.

"Don't worry about them, Harry. Maybe we can help each other with our abilities. We can become strong and make sure that those fools wished they never, ever, treated you ill. Remember, they are the ones with the problem, not us. They are so close-minded and believe that anything different is far worse than it actually is."

Harry stiffened when he heard an elephant trampling down the stairs, causing vast amounts of dust to shower over him.

"BOY!" The elephant bellowed. "WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS RUCKUS?!"

"Thank you, Tom. It was nice meeting you. If I survive, I'll make sure to talk to you again soon." Harry said quickly and dashed across his 'room' to hide his new favoured possesion.

Several locks were undone on the door of the cupboard and the door was slammed open, revealing a purple faced Uncle Vernon. Harry quivered, but quickly concealed his fear by straightening his posture and raising his chin. He knew what was going to happen, and he will let it happen. But he will never again let himself cower in the presence of this filthy, obese man.

"You think you are so special, don't you, Freak?"

Harry stayed silent.

"Looking all smug and proud and unfazed. Let's see how long you can stay like this before you cripple before me, shall we?" the beast threatened. A malicious smile was revealed under his bushy moustache.

He held up a belt and struck the boy before him multiple times. Harry did not flinch through the whole punishment. Realising that he will not get a reaction out of Harry, Vernon shoved the child against the wall. "Did I say one week with no food? Make it one MONTH," He spat before dropping the boy and storming out, unsatisfied with the lack of response.

Even when he left, Harry showed no signs of weakness. He had no one but Tom to thank for this new sense of pride and bravery.

**A/N- If anyone has any suggestions for this story or for ways to improve my writing, feel free to tell me. I'd really appreciate it.**


	3. Formulating a Plan

**Disclaimer- I do not own ANYTHING from the Harry Potter universe. It all belongs to JK Rowling.**

* * *

**Chapter 3- Formulating a Plan**

Tom watched in disdain as the children of his orphanage ran around and played games in the hot summer's sun. As usual, he was the outcast. He sat on a wooden bench, distancing himself from the others, while he fingered the crystal-ware. It has been days since he interacted with the mysterious boy he saw within the strange object.

_If I survive..._

That's what the boy- Harry- said, wasn't it? If he survives... Did that mean that he was dead? Or perhaps severely injured? Tom hoped not. Harry had been the first person he could relate to, even if they only saw each other for a few minutes. Tom ran his fingers against the jagged edges trailing along each dip and each point that made up the article. He was so deep in thought, that he didn't notice the matron approach him until she was only several feet away from him. Tom discretely hid the glass inside his pocket before turning to the woman.

"Tom, it's time to go inside now," she stated, calmly but cautiously.

"Yes, Mrs Cole. May I stay here for a few minutes? I won't stray far," he asked, ever politely.

"As long as you stay right here. I'll call you over when lunch is ready."

"Thank you, Miss."

This was responded with a grunt of agreement.

She walked away, glancing back at Tom every few seconds as though she were expecting him to disappear while her back was turned. He watched her retreating figure until she was out of sight and pulled out the glass from his pocket. The words engraved on the top left corner shone brightly and the temperature of the object increased rapidly. In fact, the temperature soared so high that Tom was required to drop the object, lest he burnt his hand off. Whilst blowing on his singed appendage, he noticed the glass shard rattling on the grass beside him, silently demanding his attention.

Tom leaned in ever so slightly, keeping his distance so that he was just able to see what was inside the object without leaving his bench. He watched in amazement as the transparent glass turned into a reflective surface, not unlike a mirror, before distorting the image within. Where the reflection of his surroundings once were, there was a room instead. A room with a pale and extremely thin boy in the centre of it with tired, green eyes boring into his dark ones. In all honesty, the boy looked terrible. Pasty and starved with bags under his eyes and his hair ruffled so much that it resembled a birds nest.

_If I survive... _

Pfft! The boy looked like a corpse; nothing like the bright eyed, smiling child he previously saw.

"Harry?"

"Tom," he replied softly.

"Harry, what happened? You look terrible."

Harry smiled a sad smile before inhaling noisily.

"After my uncle heard me talking to you, he suspected that I was forming an allegiance with other freaks. He kept a close eye on me for the past few days and didn't let me into my cupboard with the door closed. He and my Aunt and cousin have been treating me poorer than ever." He sighed before continuing."After they deemed me trustworthy again, they locked me back in my room. I never thought I'd see the day where I'd be looking forward to being cooped up in here."

How could they do that to him? A small, defenceless child? And they call themselves his blood relatives? Harry doesn't deserve this. Something has to be done.

"Are they at home now?"

"No, they all left a few minutes ago."

"What do you plan to do?"

"Plan?"

"Yes, plan. We have to give them a taste of their own medicine. We need to inform them where they stand. Where do they stand, you ask? **Beneath us**. They are nothing but scum on our shoes. You do not deserve to be treated like this! We need to act. And fast. So I repeat, what do you plan to do?"

The smaller boy bit his lip and furrowed his brow, looking out to the distance. He closed his eyes and folded his hand beneath his chin. After a few moments of peaceful silence, Harry gasped suddenly and his had snapped up. He smiled widely, way too widely to be considered natural, and stared at Tom with an emerald fire blazing in his eyes.

"I've got it!"

* * *

"I've got it!" Harry exclaimed. After the long silence filled with blank thoughts, he was bombarded with various plans formulating in his mind.

Tom's eyes lit up and he looked at Harry expectedly.

"Tell me."

"My plan may take some time to take action, but I think it will be worth it." Harry was excited that he had a chance to get back at the Dursleys for all the suffering he had to live through his entire life.

"Go on..."

"Tom, do you think it is possible for us to control our... abilities?" The starved boy asked hopefully. If it turns out that it _is _possible to do so, the plan would already be partially fulfilled.

Tom smiled, not unlike the way Harry was.

"I know so," he answered simply.

"How do you know?"

There was a silence before the other boy looked away as if he were reminiscing a memorable event, a smirk gracing his aristocratic features.

"Practice."

"_TOM! Lunch is ready. I want you in here this instant!" _A distant voice called.

"I'm sorry for leaving so early, Harry. But you see, I must leave now. When we see each other again, I will teach you all I know about our abilities that we possess. Bye! And don't you dare let those filthy creatures walk all over you."

Tom's face disappeared from the glass, along with the rest of his home. Harry watched the article until only a faint reflection of his face remained. Harry chuckled slightly to himself. He really did look the picture; bruised, sickly pale and extraordinarily thin. It was no wonder that Tom looked so horrified when he saw him. Harry thought back to the plan constructed and another twisted grin formed on his lips. This is going to be epic! The Dursleys will never know what hit them!

* * *

**A/N- Just to let you know, I do not think this is going to be a Dark!Harry fic. To be completely honest, I don't really know what Harry's personality is going to be like. Please give any suggestions and remember that constructive criticism is good. So please, criticise me constructively.**


	4. Training

**Disclaimer- Harry Potter belongs to Jo Rowling. I do not intend to gain any profit from this.**

* * *

**Chapter 4- Training**

It was a few days later that Harry and Tom had sought communication in the piece of cracked glass. Harry had been grovelling in his confined room when he sensed a strange presence.

"Hello, Harry."

Harry scrambled towards the source of the sound. It lead him to the occult item. He relaxed when he saw Tom's amused face on the surface.

"Hello there, Tom!"

"We really need to find out how to make this work." Harry continued. Although he didn't mention it, Tom knew what Harry was talking about.

"I thought we figured it out the first time we saw each other," Riddle answered, dark eyes scanning the other boy in confusion.

"I thought so too, until I tried wishing to talk to you. Nothing happened. Does it work for you?"

Tom expressed a guilty look before answering.

"To be honest, I haven't really tried yet.

"Maybe it will work. Make sure you attempt to do that the next time you want to speak to me."

"Alright. I think we should just keep track of everything we think, do or say before we appear to each other."

"That's a good idea."

Harry furrowed his brows, remembering what he wanted to ask Tom earlier. "If it's not too much to ask for, do you think you could teach me how to control my abilities?

"I believe I can. I would have to go to the forest though, away from any prying eyes. It wouldn't be good if someone caught me doing anything 'freakish'."

Harry made a noise of agreement.

"But, Tom, why couldn't you just use your bedroom? No one else shares the room with you."

"I can see why you may think that. Unfortunately, I cannot use my bedroom for doing this sort of stuff. The matron checks up on me every so often in hopes of catching me doing something strange. She really wants to find a reason to send me elsewhere- preferably a mental asylum of some sort. As does everyone else here."

"People can be so mean sometimes. It's not our fault that we can do things that they can't," Harry said softly with a trace of indigence.

The two remained silent for a minute or so until Tom came to an abrupt halt.

"I am in the forest now. Do you want to get started?"

"Of course!" Harry squealed. Why wouldn't he?

Tom took a seat on a comfortable looking tree stump. "I'm going to teach you how to move an object without touching it."

Harry couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed. He had expected to learn something grand, like make things explode with his mind or something equally awesome. His disheartenment seemed to show on his face.

"Harry," Tom sighed. "Don't expect to achieve great things if you do not start off with the basics. If you first learn how to do more complex techniques, it will be much harder to teach yourself others. With grasping the basics first, you will be able to branch out to more difficult facilities. Do you understand what I mean?

The smaller boy nodded mutely.

"Now, pick an object of your choice," Tom instructed.

Green eyes scanned the too-small room. There wasn't really much he could choose from to perform with. He saw his pillow but didn't think that it was suitable. The glass container containing the remnants of his incinerated story book was out of the question as it was much too precious. His orbs landed on an old, worn tennis ball. Perfect.

"Got it."

"What did you pick?"

"A tennis ball."

"Okay. From now on, you are going to have to follow every word I say. Are you ready?"

"Yes, yes. Lets's get on with it," Harry flinched again -not unlike the first time he spoke to Tom- at his disrespectful tone, but remembered that Tom wouldn't hurt him. Would he? Friends weren't supposed to do that.

"Impatient much..." Riddle muttered. He looked around to make sure there was no one watching before starting the lesson.

"Look at the object." He started with a mystical voice. "Blur out the surroundings. Just keep all of your focus on-"

He was rudely cut off by Harry's hysterical laughter.

"Is something the matter?" Tom asked, frowning in annoyance.

Harry tried to stop the laughter from bubbling out his mouth, he really did, but he just couldn't help it. The other boy's drastic change of tone caught him by surprise. And it was pretty hilarious. After several deep breaths, Harry was able to stop laughing and calmed himself down. He hung his head and apologised, sheepishly.

"You'd better be sorry. Now if you're ready, I will restart the lesson as I was interrupted so discourteously. "

Tom cleared his throat. "Look at the object. Blur out the surroundings. Just keep all of your focus on the tennis ball. Nothing exists right now except for my voice and your item of choice."

Luckily for him, Harry was able to refrain from laughing. Tom's voice didn't sound so funny and overly-mystical any more. On the contrary, his voice sounded hypnotic and rich. It made Harry feel sleepy and made him willing to comply with the other's commands.

"Now hold up your arm, your dominant arm, but do not give it any attention. Remember, your focal point is the tennis ball."

Harry did just that, although he found it difficult to not take notice of his raised arm.

"Visualise the object moving," he continued with a smooth, melodic timbre. "Concentrate as hard as you can and try to force it to move, just the way you are imagining it to."

"Do you feel the tingling in your arm?" Tom asked after a while. Harry didn't answer, but was aware of what he had just been asked. The young boy didn't want to disrupt his concentration in fear that he would have to re-do the process leading up to this current stage.

"That's the energy pulsing through your veins. I want you to embrace the feeling. Not literally, mind you. But, yes, indulge yourself with the sensation.

"By now, the energy should feel quite hefty, almost as though it is writhing and squirming to get out of your palm. Am I correct?"

The green eyed boy inclined his head.

"Good. Now, slowly curl your fingers into your palm so it forms a light fist. Hold it just like that. Continue to focus on the tennis ball, but take heed to your energy also. Feel the force exerting; trying to break free from your grasp.

"When you think that it is powerful enough, visualise the ball moving in the direction that you want it to and expel all of your energy from your hand to the ball. Kind of, throw it, as though you are throwing a ball in shotput."

Harry didn't know what 'shotput' was, but figured that he knew what he had to do, anyway. He gathered all of the energy into his palm and discharged it to the ball. The sheer force from the ejection of the energy caused him to topple backwards onto his backside. Hard.

"Well done! I wouldn't have thought that you would succeed on your first try," the 'teacher' exclaimed, proud yet slightly shocked.

Wincing slightly from the sharp pain on his rear, he looked up to find his ball exactly where he wanted it to be. The eight year old whooped in joy and looked at Tom, grinning from ear to ear.

"How long did it take for you to achieve this?" He asked.

"Around a month, if not more."

Harry couldn't help but feel smug that he accomplished this quicker than his 'teacher' had.

"Does it always take that long to move an object. Do you have to go through the whole meditation process every time?"

"At first, yes, but after getting the hang of it and practising several times, it comes naturally."

"Can you show me something? Something cooler than moving an item"

Tom Riddle smirked at the other's childishness but proceeded to set a tree trunk alight with only his eyes. Harry's eyes lit up in astonishment as he watched the flames dance along the limbs of the tree. It was absolutely surreal. He was so captivated by the ember that it took him a number of time to noticed that Tom had extinguished the flame with another glance.

"Amazing! What else can you do!?"

With a look of deep concentration, Tom managed to levitate a tree branch and reconstructed it mid air to form a small wooden dagger. He guided the weapon into his hands to admire it up close.

Harry gaped. "That is...so... I don't even know where to begin. You've got to teach me how to do that!"

"Of course I will, but not today. We can practice moving the ball again."

The mentee repeated the process with the help of Tom's guiding voice and triumphed with much ease.

"Honestly, Harry. You are a natural."

The younger boy flushed at the compliment.

"Thank you, Tom, for teaching me. You are a brilliant mentor."

Tom beamed. " And that you, Harry, for being an excellent student.

This time, I want you to attempt the procedure on your own."

"Without you to guide me?" Harry asked, feeling slightly apprehensive. He didn't want to mess this up in front of his teacher and only friend. That would be quite embarrassing.

"Precisely," was Tom's simple answer.

"Okay."

Harry, although nervous, repeated the process and had almost completed it, when he heard the garage door open.

The Dursleys were here.

Had it already been 3 hours? How had he lost track of time on such a large scale?

"Petunia, dear, check on the Freak and make sure he hasn't burnt the house down," Vernon instructed with that sickly sweet tone he only used when speaking to his 'beloved' wife.

Petunia was heard making her way towards the cupboard and Harry quickly hid Tom under his blanket. He picked up the tennis ball and bounced it against the wall, trying to act casual. The horse-like woman opened the door to the dingy room (unfastening the infinite locks first, of course) and wrinkled her nose in disgust, making her look more equine than ever.

"Boy, stop that this instant!" she neighed. Okay, maybe she didn't neigh, but it certainly made encounters with his Aunt much more entertaining.

Harry seized the ball from bouncing. She eyed the boy suspiciously.

"You'd better not be up to something. And don't make a noise, I don't want to hear a peep out of you."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," he answered politely.

The blonde gave an ashamed, defeated look before admitting the following in a hesitant manner. ,"Since you haven't done anything freakish, and well... wrong, you... you are welcome to eat dinner with us."

Harry, gob-smacked, gaped at the woman. _Him_? Eat dinner with the _Dursleys_? There must be a catch.

"Close your mouth, Boy. And don't get used to this. I want you to get started on cooking in two hours, no later," she snapped.

With one final dubious glance, Petunia left the room, leaving it _unlocked. _Why was she being nice to him? This wasn't normal. It must be some sort of test. Yes... that must be it.

Harry slid out the enchanted crystal ware cautiously. He placed a finger on his lips to inform Tom that he must not speak too loudly, lest his relatives become wary and cancel his Aunt's 'generous' offer.

"Harry, do you mean to tell me that you do not even _eat _dinner with your family?" Tom hissed, glaring at nothing in particular.

"I cook the meals, but do not eat with them. Or at all, in general. They're not my family, by the way. At least I don't consider them as such."

The other snorted in understanding. "I wouldn't call them my family either."

* * *

The two discussed various topics and before they knew it, almost two hours had past.

"Tom, I need to cook dinner now."

"Okay. Can you put the glass inside your pocket? I wish to speak with you more after dinner."

Harry shoved the item inside the pocket of his over sized trousers and made his way towards the kitchen.

As he walked into the area, he was greeted with several grunts by each of his relatives. Vernon was wearing a malicious smirk which was mostly concealed beneath his bushy moustache.

Yes, there was _definitely _something going on...

"Good evening," Harry said.

He walked towards the kitchen and started preparing the meal. As he was mashing the potatoes, he noticed that the Dursley's were being unusually quiet. The scrawny boy hadn't even heard a whisper from any of them since he entered the kitchen. He dared to glance back to see what was going on. Petunia and Vernon were having some sort of silent debate, using hand gestures and facial expressions instead of words and Dudley was just staring at Harry as though he were examining a specimen in a zoo. This was rather odd as the Dursley's were known to be a loud, talkative family.

Harry turned back to the ingredients and resumed what he was doing, trying his best to ignore the way his relatives were acting. He assembled the dishes onto their appropriate crockery and set up the table. He beamed when he presented the finishing results on the table. The food looked magnificent, better than he had ever cooked before. He called his 'family' to the dining room and felt exceedingly proud when he noticed the three's astounded faces.

The four ate in silence. Uncle Vernon didn't even criticise anything of the dishes. Not only that, Harry was able to fill his plate as much as he wanted! He had never felt so satisfied in his life! After they had finished their delicious meal, Harry cleaned up everything and started on the dishes.

"Harry..."

The small boy turned around, only to find his cousin looking at him with a confusedly grateful look on his face. He was fidgeting on the spot

"Yes?" he replied, perplexed.

"I-I just wanted to say... I'm s-sorry. For everything. I've- We've- been really unfair towards you a-and I want to make it up to you."

"...Er... Alright," was all Harry could say in reply.

"Why don't I do the dishes for you? Go and do whatever you normally do."

"Okay... Thank you?"

"You're welcome, Harry. And sorry, again."

Harry bobbed his head left the kitchen. When he past the adults, he still saw the nasty smirk playing on his Uncle's lips and his Aunt forced a tight smile when he glanced at her. Harry was addled, yet he was elated. The Dursleys being nice to him? Who would've thought he'd see the day?

Before he knew it, he heard his cousin shriek, followed by his Aunt. His uncle was emitting a hostile chuckle. He looked up and noticed all of the dining chairs floating in the air. _No no no no no no_\- Harry thought. Couldn't he just have a normal, happy day? And didn't strange things only happen when he was angry? He was feeling happy and he wanted it to last, but it seemed to be that happiness was prohibited for people like him. For freaks.

"See, Petunia, dear?" He heard his Uncle say. "Freaks will be Freaks, no matter how kind you act towards them."

"I just thought it was worth a try! I thought he would refrain from using his Devil's work against us if we were nice to him!" Petunia replied.

"It was an accident, I swear! I can't control it," Harry started to sob. He just wanted an enjoyable evening. Was that too much to ask for?

"An accident? Can't control it? Don't you think for a second that I believe that bullcrap. It looks like punishment is in order... But what should it be?" Vernon hissed before adding, "Go to your room, Boy. I'll be there when I've chosen the appropriate penalty."

The eight year old dashed to his room and closed the door gently. He would've much preferred to slam it with all his might, but that would only lead him to more trouble. He quickly held up the glass to his face.

"How could they do that to you?!" Tom whispered, but in such a deadly way that Harry would've favoured that he yelled. The sound made shivers run down his spine.

"Tom, you have to be quiet. I don't want them to know about you. If they found out, they'd surely take you from me and hurt me worse than ever," He whispered back.

He heard stomping approaching the door of the cupboard he was in and braced himself for whatever would be coming. He squeezed his eyes shut , awaiting any physical impact or an onslaught of viscous threats, but none of that came.

"H-Harry?" He heard Tom say. He was holding the telecommunication glass in his hand, so why could he hear Tom's voice right next to him?

Harry cautiously opened one of his eyes to see what the delay of his punishment was.

He wasn't in his room. He turned his head to the right and found Tom gawking at him with his dark eyes wide. He was quick to mimic that expression.

"Tom? How did I get here?"

* * *

**A/N- Sorry if I took too long in updating this story, but I believe I explained the reason on my profile. Thank you for reading and please give any suggestions and criticise anything that needs to be criticised. **


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